Great Power, Great Responsibility
by PhoenixPheathers12
Summary: Stiles only wishes that he was stronger, better, smarter, more powerful. It's the bite of a spider that grants his wish, but Stiles quickly learns that with great power comes great responsibility. Stydia Spiderman AU.
1. One of His Top Ten Most Confusing Nights

For the first time in the season, things were looking up for the Beacon Hills High School lacrosse team. The score was tied at 4-4 with less than ten seconds left on the clock. Stiles watched from his seat on the bench as his best friend caught the ball and began running across the field, towards the other team's goal. He pressed his hands together in a prayer position, body tense with excitement.

"C'mon, Scotty, you can do it," Stiles murmured into his fingertips. The large teen paused in front of the goal, swinging back. The crowd held their breath, stunned into a silence. The ball soared through the air, past the goalie, and into the net.

Screams and cheers erupted, Coach naturally being the loudest of them all.

Flying to his feet, Stiles let out a series of victorious screeches, charging at his friend. The rest of the team converged around Scott, but Stiles reached him first, tackling him in a tight embrace.

"Now that's what I'm talking about, Scotty!" he cheered, patting the teen on the shoulder. Scott laughed, returning the embrace. He said something Stiles couldn't hear over commotion, and then began pushing through the crowd of victorious teens. Stiles rolled his eyes, watching him head straight for his girlfriend and lifting her into the air.

Couples, the thought in mock disgust. As if the feeling churning in his gut was amused annoyance instead of that little twinge of jealousy.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, and the two friends reunited, Allison at Scott's side.

"Stiles, please tell me you're coming to the victory party," Allison said, her usual infectious grin on her face. Stiles chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

"I wasn't really invited," he admitted. "Which, of course, means I am morally obligated to attend." The couple laughed.

"Good. It wouldn't be the same without you, man," Scott said, patting his friend on the shoulder. Stiles hid a wince at his friend's deceptive strength, which probably had him sinking a few inches into the soil. A figure with bouncing strawberry blonde curls appeared at Allison's side, suddenly stealing all of Stiles's attention.

Lydia Martin was, as usual, dressed impeccably, her hair and makeup beyond perfect and beautiful. It was her eyes that really entranced him, however, so bright and full of energy. Her gaze skipped right over Stiles, landing on her best friend.

"Allison, there you are," she said in her cool, smooth voice. Her tone implied that she'd been looking for the taller girl, but that also implied the idea that Allison would be anywhere else except Scott's side.

"Hey, Lydia," Allison greeted. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Lydia echoed, as though it were the stupidest question in the world. Her head cocked to the side, and Stiles tried not to stare as a curl brushed against her cheek. "What's up is I need your help picking out the perfect outfit for the party, remember?"

Allison reluctantly nodded. "Alright, alright," she said with a laugh. "Just give me a sec, and we can go." She turned to her boyfriend, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Stiles had to look away as the kiss lingered longer than necessary, his gaze involuntarily landing in Lydia. Much to his surprise, she was already watching him, her expression unreadable. As their gazes met she gave him a tiny, hesitant smile before quickly looking away. It was so brief that Stiles wasn't actually sure that it had happened.

When the couple finally pulled apart, Allison grinned and latched onto Lydia's arm.

"I'll see you guys at the party," she said as they departed. Both boys stared after them for a moment before turning to face each other.

"Dude, you guys are so gross sometimes," Stiles informed him matter-of-factly. Scott laughed.

"Right, because they way you stare at Lydia isn't totally weird or anything," he replied teasingly.

"Hey, hey, I do not stare," Stiles defended. "I admire. Besides, that's still way better than sucking face with her in front of everybody every freaking chance I get. I'm thinking of starting to carry around a crowbar to pry you freaks apart."

By the time Scott and Stiles arrived at the party at Sarah Lincoln's house, it was already in full swing. Music poured from the speakers both inside and in the back yard, shaking with the bass of some random dubstep song. The duo went around the house, straight for the backyard where they knew a majority of the action would be.

There wasn't nearly as much dancing as movies suggested there would be at a high school party, but plenty of drinking and chatting amongst the teens. They weaved their way through the crowd, searching for where the majority of their team would be hanging out.

"There's Danny," Scott pointed out suddenly, gesturing. Stiles followed his gaze, spotting the boy hanging out around a small fire, along with several other members of the lacrosse team. Stiles nodded, grinning. He took a step forward, but then faltered, spotting a familiar head of strawberry blonde. She was in the lap of a large, familiar boy, lips practically glued to his neck. Grimacing, Stiles patted Scott on the arm.

"I'll be over in a sec. Want me to get you a drink?" he offered.

"Uh, sure. Thanks." Scott gave him a grateful smile before joining Danny by the fire, striking up a conversation that Stiles couldn't hear.

Sighing, Stiles turned and headed for the drinks, running a hand through his hair.

Six years, and it never got any easier.

You'd never know it, but once upon a time Stiles had actually been friends with Lydia Martin. Him, scrawny, dorky, and awkward Stiles. Friends with perfect, beautiful, popular Lydia Martin. A blasphemous idea, certainly, which was why so few people knew about it. Now, Lydia Martin wouldn't be caught dead with the boy who was only a few rungs above outcast on the social ladder. In fact, the only reason she could even be seen around him anymore was because of his association with Scott McCall, star player and co-captain of the lacrosse team.

Things had been so different in elementary school, before things like popularity and social expectations came into play. Growing up next door to each other had meant that Stiles and Lydia were natural, immediate friends. Their mutual love of learning and reading gave them a means of bonding, and for a long time they were inseparable. And, naturally, Stiles completely adored her from age eight. But then came seventh grade, and Lydia's mother had placed her into a private, all-girl's school. After that, the saw less and less of each other. And by the time high school came around and they were back in the same school together, it was like she was a different person.

Lydia Martin, as far as Stiles was concerned, had always been beautiful. But when she walked into Beacon Hills High School, she was _stunning_. And that naturally made her the object of many boys' affection. Her rise in popularity had apparently convinced Lydia that hiding her intelligence and fitting into the image that everyone expected of her was far better than associating with someone as low-level and ordinary as Stiles. She refused to even so much as acknowledge him most of the time. Eventually, Stiles respected that and stopped trying to reach out to her. Instead, he settled for admiring from afar. That is, until his best friend started dating his best friend. And things have been complicated ever since.

Like that moment on the field, after the game. Stiles was pretty sure it was the first time she had actually acknowledged him as anything other than 'Scott's weird friend' in almost four years.

"Hey, Stiles!" Allison grasped Stiles by the arm, grinning.

"Oh, Allison, hey," Stiles smiled. "Scott's over by the fire," he said, gesturing. Allison gave him an appreciative smile.

"Thanks."

Stiles had barely reached the drink table before the shouting started. There was a crash, like the sound of glass shattering. And then a scream that Stiles immediately recognized. Lydia.

Moving on instinct, Stiles pushed through the gathering crowd. Everyone had formed a loose circle around two large, wrestling figures. Standing near them was Lydia, green eyes wide with horror. Her face was flushed, although Stiles couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or intense emotion.

"Stop it!" she screeched, stumbling forward. Whatever the case, she was obviously drunk. "Jackson! Get off of him!"

Stiles looked back to the two fighting teens and had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Aiden and Jackson. Of course.

Scott and Danny both quickly surged forward, pulling the two apart. They struggled in the grasps of their holders for all of maybe .4 seconds before relaxing. Aiden was quick to storm away angrily, his brother trailing after him. But Jackson lingered. His body was still shaking with fury as he turned on Lydia, his face inches from hers.

"This is your fault!" he spat, wrapping a large fist around Lydia's upper arm. He was probably referring to his now bloody and bruised face, which was one of his most prized possession (only second to his porsche). His modeling career would no doubt suffer, at least for a while. "You ruin _everything_! You little slut!"

Stiles was surprised when Lydia shrank back, paling. Allison was at her side in an instant, eyes wide with a fury that rivaled Jackson's.

She hissed something too quiet for Stiles to hear, but whatever she said, it seemed to do the trick. Jackson released Lydia and stomped off. The crowd parted like the red sea for him, awed gazes trailing after him.

Stiles rushed over, stopping just a few feet away because he wasn't sure how appropriate it would be to express his full level of concern. Scott and Allison are right beside her, the latter already whispering words of comfort to her distraught friend. Everyone is still staring, and Stiles can see by the hunch of her shoulders that Lydia wants to run away and hide from their prying eyes.

"Maybe we should go inside," he suggests. "Or just somewhere with less people."

"I want to go home," Lydia said stubbornly. Scott and Allison both nodded, and they began escorting her through the crowd. Stiles trailed behind, making sure to give his harshest glares to anyone still staring at them. Only a few had the decency to look away, while most continued openly gaping. Jerks.

They made their way out to the front, where the line of cars was parked. Stiles could see his jeep sitting at a corner not too far away.

"Shit," Allison suddenly said, stopping dead in her tracks. "I left my phone inside." She turned to Scott. "Do you think you could help me find it?"

Scott frowned, clearly confused, but nodded. "Yeah, sure, of course."

Allison smiled and looked to Stiles. "You guys live next door, right? Why don't you take her home, and I can gift Scott a lift back once we found my cell," she suggested.

"Me? You want me to- I mean, yeah, sure I can, of course. So long as she doesn't- do you mind?" He immediately turned his attention to Lydia, who had her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"That's fine," she said, looking away. Stiles tried not to let himself feel down about her obvious indifference, and instead focused on the fact that he was about to be alone with Lydia Martin for the first time in years.

Better yet, maybe he shouldn't think about that…

"Alright, let's go then," he said, trying hard not to sound too eager or nervous (it probably didn't work, if Scott's face was anything to go by). The couple said their farewells before quickly disappearing back inside.

Stiles gave Lydia what he hoped was a comforting smile before turning and leading her towards his beautiful jeep.

The first five minutes of the ride were relatively silent, so Stiles attempted to break the tension with some music. Except that as soon as he reached for the radio, Lydia was speaking.

"How much do you hate me?"

Stiles looked over to her in shock.

"What?" She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Don't act like you don't, because I know you do. I've been ignoring you for years, treating you like shit… What kind of best friend does that?"

Stiles looked back to the road, shifting uncomfortably. He tried focusing for a moment on maneuvering through the heavy city traffic before returning his attention to Lydia.

"I don't hate you," he said. "I mean, I was mad for a while, yeah. But I got over it. You moved up in life, made something of yourself. No reason to ruin that by hanging out with a nobody like me, right?" There wasn't any bitterness to his tone. Just honesty.

Lydia was silent for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"I miss you," she murmured, almost too softly for him to hear. He quickly glanced at her, mouth gaping slightly.

"You- you do?" He came to a stop light and took advantage of it to watch her. She met his gaze, eyes brimming with tears.

"I don't even know why I'm friends with these people," she confessed. "None of them actually like me.I thought that if I made myself prettier, if I became more popular, people would like me. But they don't even know me. But you do."

Stiles was forced to look away as the light turned green. "What about Allison?"

Lydia sniffled, wiping furiously at her eyes. "Allison is my best friend, and I love her. But she still doesn't know me like you do. And I miss that. I miss you."

Stiles couldn't help but wonder how true that was. It had been years since they'd last had a genuine conversation. And people changed over time. At this point, he really couldn't say that he knew Lydia anymore. But he would definitely love the opportunity to get to know her all over again.

Still, he also knew that Lydia was drunk and emotionally unstable. Now was definitely not the best time to get his hopes up.

"I'm right here, Lydia," he said softly. "I've always been right here." He wasn't sure if she heard him or not, but if she did, she never replied. He pulled up into his driveway a few minutes later, pushing down his parking brake.

Lydia turned to Stiles, giving him a small, watery smile, before hopping out. He watched her silently for a moment as she crossed the yard between their houses and pushed open her front door. Once she was gone, Stiles let out a weary sigh. He wasn't quite sure what to make of his relationship with Lydia now, if they could even say that they had one.

Either way, this definitely had to be filed under 'Top Ten Most Confusing Nights. Like Ever'.


	2. The Strangest Day Ever

Hey, guys, here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review! I really wanna know what y'all think, good and bad.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

The rest of the weekend was rather uneventful for Stiles. He spent most of it either playing video games with Scott or not doing his homework. He caught a glimpse of Lydia leaving her house at one point while he had stepped outside (not that he was watching for her or anything), but if she saw him, she didn't acknowledge him at all. When Monday came around, Stiles walked into school with Scott by his side, figuring that today would probably be just like any other boring, miserable Monday. He was immediately proven wrong upon entering his first period (chemistry), where he found Lydia sitting at his usual table that he shared with Scott. He exchanged a look with Scott, who merely shrugged. The darker teen took a seat beside Danny, which was Lydia's usual spot.

Stiles wanted to be upset with his friend's obvious betrayal, but he was too busy trying to understand why Lydia was sitting at his table.

Hesitantly, Stiles approached her. She had already looked up upon his entrance and was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"Uh, hey, Lydia," he greeted, doing his best to sound as casual as possible. Lydia patted the seat next to her.

"Sit," she ordered, giving him an encouraging smile. Stiles blinked.

"Me? Sit here? Next to yo- Okay." He removed his bag, quickly dropping onto the stool. "I- uh, how- how are you?"

"I'm fine," Lydia replied curtly, turning to face the front. Students were still filing into the classroom, and a few of them gave them strange looks. Lydia Martin sitting next to the Stilinski kid? When they didn't have assigned partners today? It wasn't something people saw everyday.

"Fine? Good, that's good. Glad to hear it. Is everything- is everything okay? I mean, I only ask just cuz, y'know, you usually sit over there by Danny. And Scott usually sits here. And now you're sitting here and Scott's there and it's just a little weird, so I mean is- is there something- something wrong?" He knew he was rambling, but he really couldn't help the flow of words spewing from his mouth. Lydia's lips pressed together as she watched him, brows raised.

"Stiles, stop," she told him, voice laced with amusement.

_Oh God,_ he thought. _She's probably laughing at me on the inside right now. _

"Sorry," he murmured before forcing his mouth shut. Lydia smiled, satisfied.

"Just don't be weird," she told him. "Act like this is completely normal, okay?"

"Uh- okay?"

Lydia shook her head, strawberry blonde ringlets bouncing around her face.

"How's your dad?" she asked him, so casually that Stiles had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"My dad? He's uh- he's fine. His cholesterol is getting better, thanks to the dieting and all that. And your mom?" And he was asking about her mom now? God this was awkward.

"The same," Lydia replied. Before either of them could speak further, the bell rang. Their teacher rose from his desk, ordering everyone to take their seats, and class officially began.

The rest of the school day _seemed _relatively normal, until he received a text from Allison in Economics. Making sure that Coach wasn't looking (he was a bit more occupied with scolding Greenberg again), Stiles opened the message.

_Hey, Lydia and I are going to the mall after school. U and Scott should come._

Stiles had to reread the message three times. Not only was the idea of the four of them hanging out as a group strange enough for Stiles, but why in the world was _Allison _asking _him_?

He glanced over to Scott, who sat beside him and raised a brow. Scott leaned over to read the text, looking equally confused. He gave a tiny shrug.

"Stilinski! McCall! Something you'd like to share with the class?" Coach's harsh bark shook them both, and Stiles quickly put his phone away.

"No, sir," Scott replied, ashamed. Coach glared at them openly for a few moments before rolling his eyes and returning to whatever the hell he was trying to teach.

They met Allison and Lydia an hour after school ended. Stiles had to stand off to the side awkwardly as Scott and Allison shared a passionate kiss (as though they weren't just together a short while ago). Lydia greeted Stiles rather normally, which was to say, rather abnormally, considering Lydia rarely acknowledged him normally. But her friendly smile and 'hey' suggested that there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Stiles wasn't really sure how he felt about it, but he wasn't going to complain. After years of pining after Lydia, he wasn't going to turn away this opportunity to rekindle their friendship.

Most of their afternoon was spent in the food court, chatting and picking at half-eaten Panda Express. The conversation lingered mainly around the topic of school, particularly an upcoming chemistry project. Allison and Scott did more kissing than talking, being the sickeningly loving couple that they were.

Eventually, though, they did decided to get up and wander through the shops. They found themselves spending perhaps an unnecessary amount of time in the pet shop, fawning over the cheery puppies and sleeping cats. Despite already spending so much time around animals as a vet's assistant, Scott was completely enthralled by the variety of puppies, joined loyally by Allison.

Stiles, personally, preferred to spend his time admiring the collection of more _unique _pets. Snakes, geckos, spiders. He was peering curiously into the tank of a large tarantula when Lydia suddenly appeared beside him.

"Oh, wow, that thing is huge," she noted with thinly veiled disgust. Stiles laughed.

"Yeah, a bit. Did you know that some tarantulas can have legs that grow to be as large as ten inches in diameter. That's like, the size of a dinner plate."

"How… fascinating…" Lydia scrunched her nose and looked away. Stiles turned to her, grinning.

"Oh, man," he said. "Don't tell me you're still afraid of spiders!"

Lydia scowled. "Of course not. I just find them to be repulsive."

Stiles shook his head, grinning. "Remember that time we found the jumping spider in your closet? Oh man, you screamed so _loud. _To this day, I don't think I've heard anything like it."

Lydia's lips quirked, and she quickly covered it with a glare.

"I wouldn't be so quick to make fun. I happen to remember your reaction when we went to get our shots at the doctor's together being rather pathetic. In fact, I'm pretty sure you _fainted_." Her green eyes glowed with mirth as she watched Stiles pale at the memory.

"That was a long time ago," he choked out, shuddering. He really hated needles. Giggling, Lydia folded her arms over her chest.

"Glad to see _you _haven't changed at all," she told him smugly, moving to examine a sleeping turtle. Stiles watched her silently for a moment, admiring the way her long, strawberry blonde curls fell around her face.

"You have," he said without thinking. There was a pregnant pause between them before Lydia turned, hair bouncing. Her expression was calm, unreadable.

"Not as much as you'd think," she said, almost too quietly for him to hear. She surged forward suddenly, grabbing his arm. "C'mon, I think Scott and Allison are leaving without us." She pulled him out of the store, too quickly for him to really protest. Not that he could have, as distracted as he was by the feeling of her small, manicured fingers wrapped around his bicep.

By the time they left the mall, it was already dark. The four of them walked together to their cars, reluctant to depart. Allison and Scott were naturally attached at the hip, fingers locked together. Stiles and Lydia were, more surprisingly, walking rather closely as well, arms brushing every few steps as they laughed at one of Scott's stories (a recounting of a strange patient that his mother had witnessed some weeks back).

"You know what," Allison suddenly interjected. "Stiles, how about you drive Lydia home? That way Scott and I can, y'know, have just a bit more private time together."

Lydia only looked slightly surprised by the suggestion, but only shrugged indifferently.

"I don't mind. It'd probably be easier, anyways, right?" She looked to Stiles.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I don't mind. I mean, why not?" Why not get some more alone time in a tiny car with Lydia Martin, his former best friend and the girl of his dreams? He fumbled uncertainly with his keys, trying to tell himself that this wasn't a big deal. He didn't need to be so damn nervous.

Before either of them could make another move towards their respective vehicles, a large black van swerved down the aisle, barely missing them by a few feet. Stiles instinctively grabbed Lydia by the shoulders, pulling her from harm's way as the van skidded to a sharp halt in front of them.

The group of teenagers stared in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation. It was like something out of a movie as the doors slammed open, dark figures pouring from the back and pointing guns at their heads.

"Get in!" one of them barked, his voice slightly muffled by the black ski mask that he wore. No one moved, hardly daring to believe what was happening. "Get in the car!"

"Seriously?" Stiles blurted, unable to help himself. The speaker surged forward, and before Stiles realized what he was doing, he grabbed Lydia by the arm. He pressed the barrel of his pistol against the frightened girl's head.

"Get in, or I shoot the girl," he growled. Needing no further motivation, Stiles was the first to rush into the back, shortly followed by Allison and Scott. Lydia was pushed in last, the doors slamming shut behind her. Inside the van was dark, a metal bench on wrapping around the front and sides. The sound of a car engine outside told them that their apparent kidnappers had climbed into a second vehicle before the van was quickly taking off.

The four teenagers sat in a stunned silence, too horrified and confused to speak. In the darkness, Stiles could see Scott holding Allison tightly against his chest. The girl didn't seem to really need the comfort, if her straight posture and calculated gaze was anything to go by. But she kept her arms around her boyfriend, accepting of his presence either way. Lydia sat frozen, eyes wide and skin pale. Stiles moved towards her, grasping her shaking hands. She looked up at him and her lips trembled.

Stiles himself was terrified, heart racing. He already felt a surge of anger towards their kidnappers, but also towards himself. Because despite being the son of a highly respected officer, he was completely and entirely helpless as he and his friends were forced at gunpoint into the back of a freaking van.

Scott fished his cell phone from his hoodie, the glow of its screen illuminating the dark van.

"I don't have any service," he said. Stiles checked his phone, frowning when he received the same results.

"They must have like a jamming device or something," he said, nearly laughin in disbelief at his own words. He just couldn't believe that this was really happening. Why them? They weren't anything special. What the hell was going on? Where were they taking them?

Stiles's first concern what that they were after the girls. That they would dispose of Scott and Stiles and ship the girls off to some country where they'd forever be lost in human trafficking. But the fact that the men had threatened to kill Lydia to get _Stiles _into the van, rather than the other way around, didn't fit that theory. The guy could have been bluffing, but Stiles doubted it.

None of them seemed capable of forming anything useful to say, so they all remained silent as the van drove for what felt like hours. Finally, it came to a sudden stop, one far too final to be a stop light. They all turned to the doors, frozen with apprehension. After several long moments, the doors were pulled open. On the other side stood five of their kidnappers, although Stiles couldn't identify any of them specifically given their attire. They all stood with similar weapons trained on the teenagers.

"Get out, one at a time. If any of you even _think_ to try anything, you're all dead," one of them ordered, and Stiles thought maybe his voice might have been the same as the guy who threatened Lydia. But he couldn't be sure. All he could really focus on was the sight of five guns pointed right at him.

If the other night was one of his most confusing nights ever, Stiles decided right then that tonight definitely could be categorized as the Strangest Day. Ever.


	3. Something Special

Sorry for taking so long! As an apology I tried my best to give you guys an extra long chapter. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing at all ever**

They were ushered from the van, out into a dark alley. Stiles didn't recognize any of their surroundings. He exchanged a glance with Scott. His friend looked just about as terrified as he felt, although Stiles could tell that he was trying his best to hide it.

A small hand wrapped around his own and Stiles looked down to see Lydia staring up at him. He gripped her hand tightly, locking their fingers together.

Before Stiles could appreciate the gesture, they were pulled sharply apart, and a bag was being pulled over his head.

"Stiles!" he heard Lydia call out before he was roughly dragged away. Strong hands gripped at his shoulders, and he could feel the cool metal of a gun repeatedly jabbing into his side as he walked. There was the sound of a door opening before Stiles was pushed up a set of stairs, often stumbling along the way.

He could make out vague shapes and light through the bag, but nothing that told him where he was, or where any of his friends were. There was another door, a long hallway, and finally they came to a stop before Stiles was being pushed into a chair and the bag was ripped from his head.

He squinted at the bright light that suddenly assaulted his vision as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

He was in a lab or some sort, with tables and equipment and animal cages. The space was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite understand why. His attention was drawn briefly to a large tank of spiders on a nearby table before a man moved to stand in front of him.

The first thing Stiles noticed about the man was the scars that took over the right side of his face, stretching down into the collar of his shirt. He was tall and muscular, which Stiles was also highly aware of, with dark hair and cold blue eyes. He stood straight with his hands folded behind his back, looking far too comfortable for Stiles's comfort.

"You must be Stiles," the man said.

Stiles shifted in his seat before taking another moment to look around. "Where are we?" he demanded.

"You mean you don't recognize it?" the man asked, sounding hurt. "This is where your mother did some of her most important and ground-breaking research."

Stiles snapped his gaze back to the stranger.

"My mother?" Of course. This was her lab. Stiles had never spent much time here before, but his mother had been a rather successful and well-respected scientist. He didn't remember much about her work, although he recalled that it was something to do with genetics, and that she was quite brilliant at it. He could recall attending a handful of banquets, watching with pride as his mother would step on stage and receive a variety of awards. There was even a wall in there house once dedicated to her achievements, covered in plaques and photos. He had been so proud of it, making sure to show it off to everyone and anyone that stepped foot in their house.

He also recalled that his father had taken it all down after his mother's death, locking it all up in the attic with the rest of her belongings.

"Why did you bring me here?" Stiles demanded. "Where are my friends?"

The man stared down smugly at the teenager.

"Do you care about your friends, Stiles?" he asked.

What the hell kind of question was that?

"Seriously? No, I just keep them around so I look less lonely," he replied sarcastically.

"Yes, I suppose you would have to," the man replied without missing a beat. "Sad and lonely little Stiles, doomed to be second best to his own best friend. How does that make you feel, Stiles?"

Okay, this guy was officially a nut.

"Are you always this creepy? What are you, some kind of comic book villain? Is this where you try to talk me over to the dark side and seek revenge on others for not appreciating me enough? Sorry, buddy, but I'd make a shitty supervillain. I can't even make first string on the lacrosse team, let alone plot to take over the world."

The man narrowed his eyes, tutting.

"I was told that you had the sharp tongue, but I was never told you were quite so insufferable," the sighed. Moving too quickly for Stiles to follow, he brought a fist down across the left side of his face. Stiles let out a cry as pain exploded across his cheek. He pressed a hand against the throbbing skin and scowled. The man stared at him expectantly, but Stiles was too terrified and stunned to say another word. "Good. Keep your mouth shut. You're much less annoying that way."

The man paced a large circle around Stiles, staring at him calculatingly, before stopping again in front of him.

"I need something from you, Stiles. If you cooperate, you and your friends may leave unharmed. If you don't, then all of your friends will die. One by one."

He said the words with such a dramatic flair that Stiles wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't joking. But the continued throbbing of his cheek told him that this guy clearly meant business.

"What the hell could you possibly want from me?" he wondered. Whatever it was, he would almost definitely cooperate. But he was just Stiles. What could he ever have to offer to a guy like this?

"What I want, Stiles," the man said, pausing for effect. "Is power. And you can help me get it." The last thing Stiles wanted was a guy like this having any sort of power. But it was obviously a little late for that, so Stiles didn't bother protesting.

"I get that being cryptic makes you feel cool and all, but it'll probably help if you just get to the point." The way the man's eye twitch had Stiles tensing, waiting for another strike. But it never came. Instead, the man let out a tiny, disappointed sigh.

"I suppose you're right. I may as well just get to the point. Your mother was apart of a team of scientists studying genetic manipulation. A rather forbidden, unethical sort. I have it on good authority that they were in fact successful in perfecting a serum that would be most dangerous if it ever fell into the wrong hands. They all died protecting it. Including your mother."

"My mother died of dementia," Stiles immediately corrected.

"That is what it looked like, wasn't it?" the man mused thoughtfully. "Now, the rest of the team perished in a fire that took all of their research with them. But your mother, she had her own separate file. It's hidden, but I believe you could help me find it."

Stiles tried to process this information, but it was too outrageous.

"You're crazy," he said.

The man stepped forward and his fist struck Stiles so hard that the chair tipped back, almost crashing to the ground.

"Hurting you doesn't seem to be doing the trick. How about I have a chat with one of your friends? Perhaps your best friend? Or the pretty girl with the red hair?"

Stiles could feel the blood pooling on his tongue, but his anger numbed the pain.

"Don't you dare touch them," he growled out, although he didn't sound nearly as menacing as he hoped to. He was just Stiles, after all. "I will kill you if you touch them."

The man chuckled. "Kill me? Someone's awfully confident." He paced around Stiles in a slow circle. "If you're so concerned for your friends, then you'll tell me what I want to know."

Stiles shook his head. "I told you! I don't know where it is! I would have told you if I did!"

The man stalked towards the door, much like a predator approaching its prey, and knocked heavily on it three times. He stepped back and the door opened. A large figure was shoved inside, and the door was quickly slammed shut. Stiles trashed against his bindings as the man pulled Scott to his feet and pointed a gun to his head.

"This is your chance, Stiles," he said. "Tell me what I want to know, or I blow Scott's brains out. You have five seconds."

Scott seemed frozen, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of what was about to happen.

"No!" Stiles cried. "I don't know. Please, don't! I don't know!" He struggled harder, his wrists slick with blood.

"Five… Four…" Stiles managed to pull himself and the chair upright until he was standing, the chair leaning tilted against him. The position caused the cuffs to dig sharply into his wrists, but he ignored them.

"Let him go!" Stiles was practically crying at this point, unable to tear his eyes away from the frightened gaze of his best friend. Scott was struggling now, but even the star of the lacrosse team was no match for his captor's strength.

The man shook hid head, smirking.

"Three… Two…" Stiles let out a shout, charging towards him. Anticipating the move, the man quickly turned the gun towards him, aiming right for his heart. "One."

There was a deafening crack, and Sties threw himself to the ground just in time for the bullet to whiz over his head and imbed itself into a wall behind him. Panting, Stiles rolled onto his back and gaped at the ceiling. He wasn't sure which was stranger: the fact that he had actually tried running at a man with a gun, or the fact that he had literally just dodged a bullet.

"Stiles!" Scott cried. "Stiles!"

The kidnapper scowled. He gripped Scott by the back of the head and shoved him to the ground beside Stiles.

"I'm not a patient man, Stiles. I've been waiting long enough. Nearly seven years in fact. And I am through with waiting." He pointed the gun at his head. "TELL ME WHERE IT IS!"

There was a bang, and suddenly men were flooding into the room, guns raised. Stiles shrank back, terrified for a moment that their kidnapper had called in some sort of firing squad. But then their were pointing their weapons at him, shouting incomprehensibly.

A pair of hands were undoing the cuffs around Stiles's wrists, and then a strong grip was pulling him to his feet. Stiles only had a moment to recognize his father's wrinkled, worried expression before he was pulled into a tight embrace.

Stiles was too tired and in too much shock to do more than collapse against his father, burying his face into his shoulder.

After the man, later identified as Peter Hale, had been apprehended and taken away, EMTs rushed into the room to examine Scott and Stiles.

"I'm fine," Stiles insisted, even as his father fussed and fumed over his beaten face and bloody wrists. "Seriously, I just want to go home."

Scott sat beside him, unharmed aside from some minor bruises, shaking his head.

"Just let them make sure," he insisted. "You look like hell." Stiles flinched, grimacing as the EMT pressed a cotton ball, wet with alcohol, to a cut on his cheek. The burn wasn't entirely unwelcome however, as it helped him focus on the here and now, rather than the trauma he had just experienced.

"What about Lydia and Allison?" he asked. "Are they okay?"

"Neither of them are hurt," Detective Stilinski replied. "Just really shaken up. They're worried about the both of you. Once we're done taking your statements, we can all go home."

Stiles let out a heavy breath.

"Alright. Fine." He looked at Scott. "I guess you can go first. You just have to tell him everything that you can remember. Be specific." Stiles knew the procedure well, given that his father was a cop. And he also knew that this would be a fairly open and shut case, so long as he didn't give them too much information to try looking in to.

Scott cleared his throat.

"Well, uhm… Let's see… We were all at the mall, the four of us. And we were in the parking lot, walking back to our cars. Suddenly this van just came out of no where."

"Can you describe it?" Stiles didn't remember seeing his father pull out the notepad and pen. He still had to blink a few times every few minutes to make the room stop spinning.

The EMT so far hadn't said anything about a concussion. God, he hoped he didn't have a concussion. Did he even remember hitting his head? The lights in the room were ancient, and seemed to have trouble deciding exactly how brightly they wanted to glow. He glared briefly up at them and averted his gaze to the ground, where a small spider was crawling slowly towards him.

Scott's voice was distant, despite sitting only a few feet away.

"They were all wearing masks, so we never saw their faces. They were shouting at us. I don't remember what they said, I just remember seeing the guns. They shoved us all into the back. Didn't even try to take our phones or anything, but we figured out pretty quick that they wouldn't work anyways. We drove for a while before they brought us here. They split us all up into different rooms. I was just sitting there in the dark, waiting for something to happen. Then a guy came in and took me to this room." He fell silent, but Stiles didn't notice, too focused on the spider.

He couldn't figure out what kind it was, which was strange considering his obsession with them as a child. It was about the size of his pinky nail, and had a solid black body. But its legs were a bright red, like the color of blood. They were long and fast, speeding across the tile floor, and yet Stiles was aware of every step. It came to a stop just in front of his left shoe, seeming to pause and stare at him. Like it was watching him.

"-iles. Stiles?" A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, shaking his attention back into the moment.

"Yeah? What?" Both his father and Scott were staring at him worriedly, and Stiles could tell they'd been trying to get his attention for some time. "Sorry, I'm just-" He waved a hand around his head as he fumbled for the right words. Dizzy? Messed up? Terrified? Those words were all too small to describe what he felt.

"It's alright," Detective Stilinski insisted. "I understand." He cleared his throat and stuffed his notebook back into his coat. "How about you and I talk about this in the morning, after you've had some rest?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine. You need to know what-"

"Stiles." He fell silent, lips pressed tightly together. "That wasn't a suggestion."

_It's for the best, _Stiles thought as he nodded his consent. He'd need time to figure out exactly how to explain to his father the truth behind his kidnapping. He allowed his father to lead him towards the doors, past the other detectives still examining the scene. Stiles was almost to the door when a sharp pain on his shoulder had brought him to a halt. He inhaled sharply and swiped at the spot. There was the brush of something distinctly bug-like across his skin and he watched in astonishment as the spider leaped off of his shoulder and landed on the ground before scurrying away, out of sight.

Stiles had caught a glimpse of Lydia climbing into the back seat of a car with her mother on his way out. She looked pale and shaken, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. His instincts told him to go to her, to comfort her, but then his father's hand was on his shoulder, and he was being ushered into the cruiser before he could even protest.

It was almost noon when his phone started ringing, pulling him from a light and restless slumber. A bleary glance at his screen told him that it was Lydia herself calling, and all thoughts of sleep flew from his mind.

"Hello?" he answered, perhaps too quickly.

"I'm outside." Her voice was small and so unlike Lydia that he almost thought he had misread the name on the screen. But a second glance confirmed that it was definitely Lydia. He leapt to his feet and peered between the blinds. Sure enough, she was there, standing in his driveway.

She was still in her pajamas, her strawberry locks pulled up into a messy bun. She had her phone pressed to her right ear and her gaze was already locked with his.

"Oh. Do you- uh. Do you wanna come in? Or do you want me to go down there?"

"Get don't here, stupid."

It was a long time since Lydia Martin had been outside his house asking to talk. But Stiles wasted no time in trampling down the stairs, skipping several steps at a time, before barreling out the front door to meet her.

She hadn't moved from her spot in his driveway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Hey," he greeted breathlessly as he approached her. Her lips tugged up into a tight smile.

"Hi."

Awkward discomfort churned in his gut as Stiles tried to think of what to say.

He eventually settled for the obvious "Are you okay?"

Lydia shrugged. "I didn't get hurt, if that's what you mean." Her gaze zeroed in on his bruised face, and Stiles grimaced.

"It looks worse than it actually is," he insisted. "I probably got beat up worse than this in middle school." He could tell that Lydia didn't believe him, but she didn't press the issue.

"Stiles," she said, her voice quivering. "We could have died. All of us."

Seeing the tears already beginning to form, Stiles hurriedly reached forward to gently touch her wrist.

"We're okay," he told her. "All of us. We survived. And I'm the only one who really even got hurt. Plus, they caught the guy, so we won't have to worry about him ever again."

Lydia shook her head, taking a step closer to him.

"Stiles, we almost _died. _We almost died and all I could think about was what a waste the past several years of my life have been." A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, but she was quick to raise a hand and brush it away.

"A waste?" Stiles echoed incredulously. "Lydia, everything about your life is the exact opposite of a 'waste'. You're brilliant, like an actual freaking genius. You're the top of our class _and _pretty much the most popular girl in school."

Lydia scoffed. "Right. Most popular girl in school, and a complete nitwit to anyone that isn't you. Everyone thinks I'm an idiot, and I let them think that way. I let them think whatever they want about me just so that they can think I'm someone worth liking. But I'm _not. _I'm a bitch who ditched her own best friend just so that she could be _popular._"

She took a step back and pursed her lips.

"I'm not a good person, Stiles."

One of the things Stiles had learned over the years that arguing with Lydia Martin was never a good idea. But there was no way in hell that he was letting her think that she wasn't a good person.

"Lydia, this is high school," he reminded her. "High school will always bring out the worst of everybody. Just like it brought out the colder, bitchier side of you. But that's just a small part of you. You're also funny, wicked smart, and you are like brimming with potential to become one of the greatest and smartest people ever. Even if no one else thinks so, I know that you're going to leave this place and you're going to make some amazing changes in the world with that brain of yours."

She was blushing, a highly unusual sight for Lydia, mouth quirked into a tiny, embarrassed smile.

"How can you even be so nice to me? After everything I've done to you?" she asked.

Stiles shrugged, tugging on his hear. "I dunno. I can still get pretty mad sometimes, just thinking about it. But then I remember when we were kids, and how nice you always were to me even when I was the most annoying, obnoxious kid ever. And I remember that even if you don't seem like it sometimes, you're still a really good person with a really good heart."

Stiles knew how absolutely cheesy everything he was saying sounded, but at least he could tell by Lydia's face that it wasn't all bad.

She reached out to grab his hand, locking their fingers together.

"You know what I think is probably the worst thing I've done these last four years?" she asked him.

Stiles figured it was probably a rhetorical question, but he couldn't resist going the sarcastic route.

"Wearing

"The worst thing I've done is waste all of this time that I could have had you in my life," she said.

Warmth flooded Stiles's chest, an uncontrollable, crooked grin pulling at his lips.

"So, what you're saying is…"

Lydia tried to suppress a smile as she looked down at her feet. "What I'm saying is: I know we can't go back to how we used to be, but I'd really like to try. Just don't let it get to your head," she warned with a pointed finger.

Stiles shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. "What? Me? Never."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "So, now that that's settled." She grabbed his hand. "I have two-day-old pizza in my fridge and no one to share it with."

A rumbling in his stomach reminded Stiles of just how hungry he was.

"How could I possibly resist?"

They walked back towards her house, hand in hand, and Stiles was quite certain that this was one of the better mornings he'd had in a very long time. Not the best, but it was definitely something special.


	4. The Day His World Fell Apart

Sorry for the wait! I hope you guys enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. Literally. I am homeless.**

The morning after the official rebirth of his friendship with Lydia, Stiles awoke with a surprising amount of energy. His body seemed to be teeming with it as he rolled out of bed and practically skipped to the bathroom. He hadn't slept much, his mind unable to rest as it tried to process his week. He was still particularly troubled by the apparent fact that his mother was involved in some pretty unethical genetic experimentation.

A part of him yearned to understand and make sense of it all. To learn the truth. Another part remembered the fear he felt seeing a gun pointed at Scott's head, and he wondered if perhaps it was better to just not get involved in that sort of business.

All concerns about that, however, were thrown from his mind the moment he met with his reflection.

Stiles was never quite as skinny and unfit as his frame and clothes probably suggested, but last he checked, he certainly didn't have legitimate muscles. He had been decently toned, sure, the kind that you could only be after four years of sort-of playing lacrosse. Now, his arms were harder, more defined. His abdomen was like a rock, with a definite four-back set in, one that Stiles could only dream of just a few hours ago. He even had pecs,like actually muscular _pecs_.

And while all of this was fascinating and potentially really awesome, what awed Stiles more was the complete lack of bruises that previously decorated his skin. Even his face, which had been swollen and dark just the night before, looked as good as new.

"Jesus," he gasped, leaning closer to the mirror. His hands traced across his skin. There was nothing there. He was completely healed. "How in the hell-"

A knock on his bedroom door shook him. Stiles stepped out of his bathroom, moving for the door.

"Who is it?" he called, pausing in front of the door.

"It's me, dude. Open up." Scott. Stiles pulled open the door and, with surprising strength, yanked his friend inside. He slammed and locked the door behind him.

"Dude, what-" He stopped, taking in Stiles's appearance. "Uhh-….. Wow. That's new."

Stiles held his arms out, nodding. "Yeah. And impossible. Look at this, I'm, like, completely healed and everything!" He gave a demonstrative turn, only to be stopped by Scott's grip on his shoulder.

"Dude, wait. Hold on. What's this?" His warm fingers prodded at something at the base of Stiles's neck.

"What do you see?"

"It looks like… a spider bite."

Stiles let out a choked cry and rushed back to the mirror, twisting in an attempt to see it.

"Oh my god. What the hell? Am I going to turn into some freaky were-spider now? Am I gonna grow eight legs and start shooting webs out of my ass?"

He could practically hear Scott thinking behind him. The teen had a habit of concentrating a bit too hard sometimes, bless his soul.

"Maybe we should go see a doctor or something. Get this checked out. It looks serious," he said. Stiles whirled around to face him.

"No way! They'll tie me up and experiment me like some sort of lab rat!" Stiles protested. He grabbed a probably clean shirt off of his floor and pulled it over his head. "No, it's better we just keep this quiet, right? I mean, what can go wrong?"

The two boys came to a mutual agreement that Stiles's condition would remain secret, although Scott made him swear that if anything went wrong they'd go straight to his mom.

Over the next few weeks, Stiles discovered that more had changed than just his physical appearance. For one thing, he was a lost stronger and a lot faster, two talents that would have been incredibly useful during the lacrosse season. He also had developed some rather remarkable reflexes, although they often did more harm than good as he struggled to adjust to them. His vision and hearing improved, although only marginally. What didn't improve, unfortunately, what his shit of an attention span. If anything, it was even harder to focus now that he had so much more to worry about.

Fortunately, it was easy to blame the recent ordeal of being kidnapped for his dropping grades. What Stiles had a little more trouble explaining away was the apparent lack of any bruising on his face. He tried the excuse of finding some really fantastic cover up at the drugstore, but it was obvious that no one actually bought that. But they couldn't seem to think up any rational explanation, so anyone that questioned him on it was forced to drop the matter and accept it as another strange thing about Stiles.

Things took a turn for the extra-strange almost two weeks after the kidnapping. Stiles was in economics, nodding off to the sound of Coach's rant about how inflation was probably all Greenburg's fault anyways. His left hand supported the side of his chin, keeping his head upright, his mind relaxed for the first time in days. Suddenly, there was a shrill whistle filling the room. Startled, Stiles let out a shout of surprise. As sudden as a violent sneeze, a sticky substance shot from Stiles's wrist, latching onto the side of his neck.

"Stilinski! Wake up! My class is not nap time! Does this look like kindergarten to you?" Coach was shouting, oblivious to Stiles's dilemma. Stiles, very quickly realizing what had happened, kept his hand against his neck and bolted from his seat. He barely managed to grab his bag in his haste as he exited the room. Scott was hot on his heels in moments, following him into the nearest bathroom, which was blissfully empty.

The moment the door shut, Stiles was pulling his hand away to examine the sticky white material coming from his wrist. He managed to pry it from his neck with much difficulty, but as he continued to pull at it, he realized that it was still attached to his arm.

"Dude, is that-?"

"Silk," Stiles said. "I've got freaking webs coming out of my arm." His face contorted in disgust. As he pulled on it, Stiles could feel it moving just beneath his skin. "Oh my god, it just keeps coming. How do I make it stop? Scott, I can't make it stop. This is so gross."

Scott watched in awe. "How are you even doing that?"

"You think I know?" Stiles's voice was shrill and panicked. "It's not like there's some book on what happens when you get bit by a crazy mutant spider and start turning into a bigger crazier mutant spider-person! I just- It just freaking came out of me!" He ignored the flash of amusement that cross Scott's face, continuing to tug at the web.

"Well," Scott said as he struggled to contain his amusement. "It's still better than coming out of your ass, right?"

It took almost five minutes for Stiles finally figured out how to get the web to stop, and after that he had to spend the remainder of the class period working on making it come out again. Over the next few weeks, Stiles took to shutting himself up in his room and fiddling with his latest ability. He found that once he got past the weirdness of it all, the stuff was actually really cool. His extreme laziness meant using the web to grab everything for him, that way he never had to get up out of bed if he really didn't want to.

Life was surprisingly good for Stiles for the first time in a long time. He had Lydia back in his life, his father was spending more time at home, and Stiles didn't feel completely and totally helpless for once. At least now if anyone tried messing with him or his friends, he'd be able to do more than just deliver half-hearted sass that only served to get him in even more trouble.

But this was Stiles, and for him good things could only last so long before everything finally came crashing down.

The day that Stiles's life completely fell apart began with a beautiful sunrise. The sky was painted a stunning orange, a shade not too far from Lydia's brilliant strawberry blonde mane. The weather was cool and crisp, but not too freezing. Even some of the heavy noise that came hand in hand with living in the city had died down in favor of singing birds and delicate wind chimes.

It was also a Sunday, however, which meant that Stiles was asleep for all of this. Because even as a now spider-human-mutant-thing, Stiles was never awake before noon on a Sunday if he could help it.

When he finally did decide to crawl out of bed and greet the world, it was nearly one in the afternoon. He descended the stairs, skipping two at a time, his bare feet landing on the wooden floor with a smack.

His chest felt light, despite how stressed he had every right to be. This was a good morning. His dad was home, rather than working extra shifts like he normally did. He also had plans later in the afternoon to catch a movie with Scott, Allison, and Lydia, which he was definitely looking forward to. The four of them hadn't all gone out together since the night of the kidnapping, and Stiles was dying for some semblance of normalcy after that.

As he all but skipped into the living room, Stiles was stunned to see another figure in the room. Allison Argent, despite being a very good friend, was probably one of the last people Stiles would ever expect to see sitting on his couch drinking from a large Starbucks cup beside his father on a Sunday afternoon. Especially without Scott in tow.

"Uhm… Allison. Hey. What's up?" He looked to his father, who was sitting with his back to him, shoulders tense.

Allison stood quickly, face pinched in obvious distress. "Hey, Stiles. Sorry to intrude like this. I was just telling your dad- Well, I just remembered something important about… the other night."

Stiles frowned. "Oh. Is everything okay?"

Allison nodded, tucking a long curl behind her ear. "Oh, yeah. Great. Everything's great. But I uhm- I actually have to go. I promised my dad I'd go out to lunch with him today, and I'm already running late, so…" She took a step towards the front door, and Stiles's father quickly moved to his feet.

"Let me give you a ride. I've got to head in that direction anyways for some errands," he offered quickly. Stiles knew his father by now to recognize a lie when he heard it. But he was too busy trying to wrap his mind around just what his father could even be lying about to call him on it.

Allison tugged on her jacket, head tilted to the side as she thought.

"Alright," she conceded. "I guess it can't hurt. Thank you." She turned to Stiles, forcing a smile. "I'll see you tonight, Stiles."

Detective Stilinski didn't meet his son's eye as he pulled on his coat and lifted his keys from the hook.

"Alright," Stiles said. "I guess I'll see you later?" The two were out the door before he'd even finished speaking, and suddenly all of the cheer had been sucked right out of him. All he felt now was confusion and a very dark, ominous feeling that something was very, very wrong.

Stiles rushed right back up the stairs, dressing as quickly as he could in a pair of jeans and a black pull-over hoodie. As soon as his shoes were laced Stiles opened his window, pulling himself out and to the roof. The air had a pleasant chill that stung lightly at his eyes. He could just barely spot his father's car turning left at the end of the street.

Stiles took several steps back, gauging the distance between his roof in the next, when he spotted movement in his neighbor's window. Lydia.

She was in her room, sitting at her desk, hunched over an obscenely large text book. Her long beautiful curls were pulled over to one shoulder, eyes narrowed in a casual concentration that only Lydia could master. And she was so stunning that it took Stiles's breath away.

Shaking his head, Stiles forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. He took another step back before breaking into a run. His roof vanished beneath his feet and he was flying through the air before landing with impossible grace just above where he knew Lydia's room would be. The roof slats sang beneath his feet and he grimaced. A moment later he could hear Lydia opening her window. He could picture her leaning her head out, frowning, as she tried to find the source of the noise. After some time, she stepped back and pulled the window shut.

Letting out a heavy, calming breath, Stiles shook his head and continued a more stealthy journey across the rooftops, following his father's trail. His new speed allowed him to catch up with ease, spotting the familiar cruiser waiting at a deserted stop light at the end of the neighborhood. The light turned green, and the car slowly began to creep forward.

Stiles saw it as though it were happening in slow motion. But it was happening fast. Too fast. A car blew through the red light on the left, slamming right into the driver's side of the cruiser at break-neck speed. There was the sound of crunching metal as the cruiser skid and eventually came to a halt against a light post. The car that struck it, a black van, backed up before coming to a complete stop. A man climbed out, pulling something from his coat, and stalked towards the now crushed cruiser.

Stiles leapt from the roof where he was watching and onto the fence behind it. Climbing down, he was still several hundred feet away. Too far away.

There was the familiar crack of gunfire. Once. Twice. Three times. Stiles was running, screaming, but the man was already climbing into his virtually undamaged van and driving away. By the time Stiles finally reached the cruiser, he could hear sirens approaching.

"Dad!" he called desperately, rushing to his father's side of the car. There was shattered glass everywhere, and Stiles could see blood on the windshield. Letting out a moan of anguish, he gripped at the handle of the door, trying to tug it open. At first, it did not budge, but finally game free from the car entirely. Stiles tossed it aside.

His father was at first unrecognizable, his face and torso stained in frightening amounts of blood.

"Dad," Stiles called again, weakly. He reached a shaking hand towards his neck, trying to feel for a pulse. But his fingers quickly became slick with blood and he had to pull back. A groan from the passenger seat pulled his attention to Allison, who was looking considerably less hurt, aside from the bloody gash in her forehead.

She blinked several times, no doubt staggered by the wound.

"Allison," Stiles called. She turned towards him, eyes slightly unfocused. "Shit, Allison, my dad, he's- he's hurt really bad. And he's not waking up. What do I do?" He wasn't sure how asking an injured, likely concussed girl was going to help, but he didn't know what to do. He looked again to his father. "Dad, please, please wake up. We've got to get you to a hospital, okay, dad?"

"Stiles," Allison said. "Stiles, you can't move him." She let out a groan, pressing her sleeve against her forehead. "An ambulance is on its way."

Stiles looked around and realized that they were no longer alone. There were now several other cars stopped at the intersection, many with their drivers out and running towards the scene. Stiles could see at least a few had cell phones pressed against their ears, even as the sirens grew louder.

Stiles let out a sob and took a step back.

"Oh my God," he said. "What happened? What happened?" He knew that he was beginning to go into hysterics and tried to rein himself in.

"Stiles, I need you to focus," Allison said. "Help me get my door open."

"But my dad-"

"Stiles!" Allison's voice jerked his attention towards her. There was a focused ferocity in her that Stiles had never seen before. "Help me get my door open. Then we can help your dad, okay?"

Stiles nodded, moving around to her side of the car. Her door was pinned shut by the lamp post, but it hardly took any effort for Stiles to shift the car over far enough to help Allison out, not caring who saw. Perhaps, if they asked him later, he could just pin it on adrenaline. Allison herself didn't seem at all phased.

It was then that the ambulance finally came to a stop, and two paramedics rushed out.

"I'm fine," Allison immediately said. "Please, just help him." They didn't bother to question her, only promising that the next medics to arrive would be taking an immediate look at her.

Stiles took a short step after them but then stopped, realizing that there was nothing he could do.

Once again, Stiles was left completely helpless as his entire world fell apart.


End file.
